FOUR WORKS
BY JAY THOMAS
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TRANSIT POEMS 1-4
1.
Not paved.
Not a tire. Sagging pole wire.
Cloth taut three
ramps down.
Elbows even with pine.
Speedwalk V-
light. Peace,
almost. Sign, big
as time.
================
2.
Hand, let's
push sand. Now wave.
Grab around a yellow
man's gray, his kind
brow.
Two levels
of succession. Cough.
He claps second. Ankle-
crossed. Ready
for commentary. Escalator
spits Russian
falsetto, Italian
danger. We'll wait
before leaving
station.
================
3.
So, ah, sunglasses. Catch light
of light. Phone okay? Oil yellow,
red mustache. Tracks
run free, parallel
with rail. Sky bowl,
rain bowl, bowl
for collecting
branches.
Move quickly. Walk with purpose.
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4.
Black teeth brace
eyes. Not wide. Slam
open. Air exposed ten
feet of tunnel. Sucks
carcass, unstable last
car. Wires
cross map, connect
rich
to free, pleasant
daily.
Open mourning mouth keeps speed
with train.